


What We Deserve

by helaodinsdottir



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helaodinsdottir/pseuds/helaodinsdottir
Summary: When Steve finds Bucky in Bucharest, he goes to his apartment to try and find some answers. But there was one thing that he didn't anticipate on finding: you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was another request from my tumblr that I've decided to put on ao3. It's a 3 parter. I hope you guys enjoy!! This fic was also inspired by the song "what we deserve" by kaleo.

The cool night last night had fogged up the windows. You had opened them this morning, even though Bucky protested. He complained about how cold it would get in the little apartment the two of you had been sharing for the past year. His words were true enough. It was hardly a place of high caliber; the walls were too thin, the insulation sucked, and anything that went wrong in the apartment maintenance wise Bucky had learned to fix himself. But despite his protests, you had opened them anyway, giving him an affectionate pat on the chest.

“You worry too much, old man,” you teased. “Besides, that’s what you’re for. To keep me warm.” You waggled your eyebrows at him suggestively, and you managed to get a smile out of him. It was such a rarity, that you always took the time to admire them when he did.

“I’m going to go the market before it gets too busy,” he said, walking up behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He held you there for a moment, dragging his nose up your neck to your jaw. He inhaled your scent, arms tightening around you like he was afraid you would disappear. He did this everyday before he left. Then he pressed a kiss to the edge of your mouth before pulling away. “I’ll be back in one hour.”

“One hour,” you repeated, saluting his retreating form. “I’ll have breakfast ready when you get back!” you called after him as he shut the door quietly behind him.

You glanced at the clock, taking a mental note of when he left. Then you set about cleaning up the apartment a little bit, though there wasn’t much to clean because there wasn’t much there. You and Bucky didn’t have a lot of personal items; close to none, in fact. But you kept yourself busy until you thought that it would be acceptable to get breakfast going. Bucky would bring back some fresh fruit and whatever else he found at the market. You thought that you would splurge this morning and make some omelettes.

You had your ingredients set out on the counter, and were pulling out a frying pan when you heard the creak of floorboards in the hallway. You glanced at the clock as you moved to the oven, setting the frying pan on one of the burners. You busied yourself with sorting through the ingredients you had picked out for the omelettes when you heard the door open behind you. You never would have heard it if you hadn’t been listening for it. Then there was the quiet latch of it shutting again, and then the floorboards creaked again.

You grabbed the frying pan, spinning around and launching it at whoever had come through the door. Bucky still had another ten minutes before he was due to be back. The frying pan hit its mark, causing a big body wrapped up in red, white, and blue to collapse on the floor in a gigantic heap. The pan clattered to the ground next to him, and your eyes widened as you gazed at the intruder.

Apologizing profusely in Romanian, you hurried over to the downed man. You realized after going through a few apologies that he probably didn’t speak the language, so then you switched over to apologizing in that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you chanted, making a pained face as he started to rub his head where the pan had hit. At least he was wearing a helmet. “I’m sorry, Steve!”

“How, how do you know my name?” he asked you, slowly pushing himself into a standing position.

You backed off a little bit, retrieving your frying pan off the floor. “Well, the suit doesn’t really help preserve your anonymity,” you pointed out, motioning to his attire. “I watch television just like everyone else.” Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the fact that you didn’t own a tv.

He brushed himself off, looking around the small room. “I must have the wrong apartment,” he said, sighing. He smiled at you and nodded a little. “Excuse me, ma’am. Sorry for the intrusion.” He pointed at the frying pan. “You’re pretty good with that thing.” He nodded to you again, then turned and headed for the door. You heard him talking quietly to himself, or someone you couldn’t see, as he headed for the door.

“You’re looking for Bucky, right?” you called after him.

He stopped, pausing in the doorway for a moment. Then he spun around, giving you a quizzical look. “You know him?”

You nodded. “He lives here,” you said, motioning around to the tiny little apartment. “I, uh, live with him. We met about a year and a half ago, about six months after that whole…winter soldier, thing,” you said, waving it off.

“He told you about that?” Steve asked, making his way back into the apartment.

“He tells me everything,” you said. You didn’t want to tell too much of his story; that was his to tell, and he got to decide to whom he told it to. But you had been the first that he had told everything to. You had listened intently as he tried to explain the broken, fragmented memories that plagued his mind. In the process, you knew everything Bucky knew about himself. And the people that he cared about. Or, suspected he did. Steve was his best friend, although he still didn’t remember everything. It made him nervous. He never knew which thoughts were his own or the ones that HYDRA had planted. But you thought that the memories he did have of Steve were pure. “I help him cope, I guess.”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of time,” Steve said. “There are people that are looking for him. And they’ll be looking for you too. Where is Bucky? We need to get the both of you out of here.”

You set the frying pan on the counter, and then set about putting some things back in the fridge. “He’ll be back in -“ you looked at the clock “- three minutes.” Once everything was put back in its place, you crouched down and pulled at some of the floorboards. You glanced at Steve as he came near you, watching as you removed some of the boards and set them to the side.

“Did you hear me?” he asked, sounding frustrated. “There are people coming to kill him. And I don’t know what they’ll do to you if they figure out you’re with him-“

“I figured that out as soon as I realized who you were,” you told him calmly. You yanked a backpack out, slinging it over your shoulder. You put the boards back in their proper spot and stood up. “Look, I know what I’m doing. Bucky knew that this would happen eventually, and we came up with a plan. I can take care of myself.” You patted him on the shoulder. “But you take care of Bucky, okay? Because if anything happens to him I’m going to have to kick your ass. And that’ll just be embarrassing. For you.”

You brushed past him, aware of how he was looking at you like you were some kind of enigma. You didn’t put too much thought into it. You stopped in the doorway, glancing back at him. “He’ll be up here in two minutes. Remember what I said - take care of him or get your ass whooped,” you warned. Then you were out the door, jogging down flight after flight of stairs. You were practically at the entrance of the apartment building when someone grabbed your arm, yanking you back and into a maintenance closet.

“We have a problem,” Bucky told you, his voice barely a murmur against your ear. The closet was cramped with the two of you in it, and you were pressed firmly against Bucky’s chest. You could see his eyes roaming over you, looking for the usual: signs of distress or injuries. His eyes landed on your backpack. “What’s happened?” he asked.

“Steve’s up in the apartment, waiting for you,” you said, patting his chest. “I’m going to follow the plan we set up. But you need to go with Steve.”

Even in the dim light, you could see Bucky’s reluctance. He shook his head. “No, no,” he said, his large hands wrapping around your shoulders. “I don’t know him. I want to go with you.” He pulled you into him, somehow getting the two of you closer together.

You rested your head against his chest, your fingers stroking the nape of his neck in comfort. “Bucky,” you said quietly, “we knew this would happen. You knew. That’s why we made the plan, remember? And we agreed that if it was Steve who found you, that you would go with him.” You raised your head up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “You do know him. You’ve told me about him. You write about him in your journal,” you reminded him, brushing your nose against the stubble of his cheek. “We follow the plan.”

He sighed, his hands slipping to your back as he wrapped his arms around you. He hugged you for a while, his lips pressed against your forehead. When he pulled away from you, he framed your face with his hands. “You go to the safe house. I will meet you there -“

“In a week,” you finished, nodding. “I know. We’ve only gone over it a hundred times.” You smiled at him, trying to be reassuring. Not letting him know how scared you were. Ever since you met Bucky, you had been strong for him. Because he had needed it, needed someone he could lean on and help him through the many traumas in his life. He had needed someone to know every thing that he’s done, all the people that he hurt, and to understand him when perhaps not even he did. And you had done that for him. And you were going to continue to do that. You just had to push your own feelings out of the way, and let yourself concentrate on Bucky. That was how you were going to get through this.

He pressed his mouth against yours firmly, but the kiss was far too short. He pulled away, breathing heavily against your mouth. “If you see anyone, you do what I told you,” he said. “Don’t divert from the plan.”

“I won’t if you won’t,” you said, winking at him. You pressed a final chaste kiss to his lips before you let yourself out of the closet. You started heading for the front door, when he pulled you back again.

“The things they’re going to say I did,” he told you, his voice trembling just slightly. “I didn’t do them. I didn’t.”

You grabbed his wrist, pulling up the sleeve of his red henley so that you could press your lips to the cool metal. “I know, baby.” You lingered for just a moment, enjoying the feeling of his metal fingers brushing against your cheek. Then you drew back, turning and continuing to the front door. You didn’t look back. If you did, if you looked at him anymore, you were never going to be able to get yourself to leave. You walked out the door, not even casting a glance over your shoulder as you left. Bucky would do what he had to do. Now it was time to concentrate on what you had to do.

You walked down the street, glancing around casually as you tried to merge with small crowds. You ignored the sirens that sounded in the distance, keeping your pace even and somewhat leisurely even though your instincts told you to go faster. To get out of the area. To go right to the safe house and wait for Bucky to come find you. But you didn’t. You followed protocol, walking toward the nearest railway station where you could purchase a ticket to your destination. You just had to get there.

You were so busy trying to keep yourself calm, that you almost missed it. The slight inconsistency in the line of cars parked on the side of the street. You were nearly at the vehicle’s bumper when you finally noticed it, and you stopped. It was a sleek, black suburban, with tinted windows. It was so cliche and typical that you didn’t know how you couldn’t have seen it earlier. Just as you decided to walk past, to keep going and figure out a strategy to deal with it later, the car doors opened, and two men stepped into your path.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of the men said, his voice thick with a German accent. He had on a suit, not exactly expensive looking, although in his defense you and Bucky would have never been able to afford it. “I’m going to need you to come with us.” He flashed his badge to show you, allowing you just enough time to see that it was real before he put it back in his pocket.

You looked between the two men, both of which were larger than you and undoubtedly stronger. You hung onto your backpack, looking around for the nearest escape route. All the hours you had spent with Bucky discussing this day, planning everything to the last detail, started to come back to you. You remembered what he had told you to do a thousand times if this situation were to happen.

Run.

The probably-CIA agent seemed to have realized what you were thinking about, because he suddenly made to grab you. You jumped to the side, taking his arm and using his momentum to crash his head into the window of the van parked behind their vehicle. Glass shattered, tiny shards flecked with blood exploding onto the sidewalk as his body hung halfway out the window.

Your movements were more of a reflex. You couldn’t count all the times that you’ve been through this with Bucky. He had wanted you to be prepared. He said that if you were with him, you needed to be ready. So you spent hours upon hours training in that tiny apartment, your bed and couch pushed against the wall as Bucky threw you to the floor again and again. It’d be serious for a while. Until you’d get sick of it and instead of dodging you’d kiss whatever part of him was readily available when he pinned you. His arms, his hands, his neck. And he’d make some comment about being serious, but you wouldn’t quit. It’d be when you got that spot, right in the crook of his neck. You’d bite him gently, applying just the right amount of pressure with your teeth. He’d make this noise that drove you wild. Just like that, he’d go from trying to teach you to fight to figuring out the quickest way to get your clothes off.

You didn’t think you’d give these fellows that sort of treatment.

You turned, deflecting a punch the second man aimed at your head, and driving your knee into his groin. He doubled over, hands clutching his smashed jewels. You brought your elbow down on the back of his neck, and then he too collapsed on the ground. You jumped over the body and headed for their car, your fingers wrapping around the door handle when another car screeched to a halt just beside you.

More cheap suits got out of the vehicle, and you evaded them by sliding over the hood of the car you had attempted to steal. Then you did what Bucky had told you to do, no matter what: you ran. You darted down an alley, your shoulder slamming into the edge of a building.

“Ow! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted, pushing off the wall and sprinting through the narrow alley. You hopped over a couple of trash cans, and tipping over a couple of more when you heard the rapid sound of feet against concrete behind you. Your shoulder screamed in protest as you tried to do a quick assessment on the damage, rolling it as you ducked out of the alley and ran down a small side street. Not broken, but it sure didn’t feel great either. It really felt awesome when you had to climb over a chainlink fence too, practically hurling yourself over it, pain be damned.

God, there was a lot of cops. Black cars, cop cars, they were all over the streets. You had to change your route several times just to try and dodge them, coming up with a new escape each and every time. You knew this city like the back of your hand, even before Bucky. But then he had shown you about a dozen different escape routes to use, just for the purpose of getting out of the city as quickly as possible. The number of available routes was quickly starting to dwindle, as more cars started to come your way and attempt to herd you into a corner.

They weren’t successful in this endeavor until about eight blocks later, and that was just because you made a mistake. You had turned down the wrong alley, which led you nowhere but to a dead end in the form of a seven-story building made of brick. There was a fire escape, you knew, but someone had pulled the ladder up. Your attempt to double back was thwarted by a mess of cars blocking your exit, men rushing out of them with their guns drawn and ordering for you to get down.

You held your hands up, chest heaving, and you gave them a breathless grin. “Hey, boys,” you greeted. _I’m sorry, baby_ , you thought. You wouldn’t be meeting him at the safe house after all. Now all you could do was hope that they didn’t get Bucky.

 

* * *

 

 

You had been stuck in an interrogation room for days. You weren’t sure how many exactly, but you if you were to guess you’d say somewhere around four or five. They brought you meals every once in a while, you thought maybe two a day. Sometimes, following one of their “interrogations”, they would forget to feed you. Not that you really cared. You could deal with the hunger; it was nothing more than a mild inconvenience compared to the other things they had submitted you to this past week. Things you wouldn’t think were legal in any government, let alone the United States. But there you were, battered and bruised, but still silent.

They wanted to know where Bucky was, where you were supposed to meet him. They already knew the two of you had been living together, so there was no point in denying the fact that you two had been planning to meet. The important part was the where, and that you still hadn’t given up. And not for their lack of trying to convince you to do otherwise. They showed you the video of the brief time he was actually in custody, where during his escape he went through a small army of guards, tearing them apart with his hands. But it wasn’t Bucky. Not your Bucky, anyway. And you had told them as such. Their moods had soured considerably after that, and you learned the next day that Bucky had actually escaped with Steve. That had made you smile.

But now they were asking you the same questions all over again, for days on end. Sometimes they’d do questioning all night. Their favorite thing to do was to let you sleep for about fifteen minutes before waking you up and asking you questions. When you refused to answer them, they’d try to draw the answer out of you in ways you’d rather not remember. When that proved unsuccessful, they’d throw you back in your cell to restart the process.

You had been trying to get as much sleep as possible when you heard footsteps approaching from outside. You had gotten used to waking up before they actually entered the room. That way they couldn’t spring any unexpected surprises on you all the sudden. You were already picking your head up off the desk when the door opened, and one of the men you had been seeing way too much of lately walked through.

“Everett,” you greeted, mostly because you had learned over the time the two of you spent together that Commander Ross hated his first name. “And here I was worried that I might actually go a few hours without seeing you.”

He smiled at you, setting a file down on the table and taking the chair across from you. He didn’t say anything, glancing at the file while he adjusted the lapels of his suit.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re awfully chipper, Everetty.”

You saw his jaw clench slightly. Small victory to you. But his sour expression was quickly replaced by that stupid smile of his. “I have a feeling that today is the day you’re going to tell us where Mr. Barnes is,” he said, sounding awfully confident considering you had been refusing to disclose that information for about a week.

“Well, I’m glad that I can ruin your good mood so early in the morning,” you grumbled to him, stifling a yawn. You stretched your arms straight up, holding back a whimper as your muscles ached and twisted uncomfortably. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

He just smiled, sliding the folder towards you. “Go ahead and take a look,” he said, folding his hands on the table.

You gave the folder a cautious glance, like it might spontaneously catch fire once you grabbed onto it. You wouldn’t put it past him. Refusing to be threatened by some pieces of paper, however, you put a hand on the file and slid it closer to you. You flipped it open, scanning through the sheets of paper that were inside.

“This is the file that we’re getting ready to put in our database,” Ross said, his gleeful tone just adding a sharper edge to the growing sense of dread turning in the pit of your stomach. “Under top secret clearance, of course. Information like that isn’t just laying out for any mid-grade hacker to access. But someone with experience, well, they’d have to work for it, but they should be able to find it if they’re motivated enough.”

“What the hell is this?” you asked. You couldn’t take your eyes off the pages. They were pictures of you, but not really. Pictures of you in suits, in different uniforms - pictures of you in places that you’ve never been, talking to people you’d never talked to. Hell, there was even a picture of you and Everetty, looking like you were in the midst of some important discussion. You were holding a file much like the one you were looking at. In another photo, there was a picture of a younger you and your father. Both of you in a place you had never been. He was wearing a lab coat, and you tucked under his arm, the both of you smiling. But your eyes were drawn to the painted symbol on the wall behind the two of you, conveniently showing just enough for you to recognize the symbol. The symbol that haunted Bucky’s dreams at night.

HYDRA.

“It’s your file,” Ross explained. “The file that your Bucky - with the help of his lawbreaking associates I’m sure - is going to find of you when they start looking for you. Despite you being infuriatingly close mouthed about the ordeal, I’m sure that the two of you planned to meet somewhere. Am I right to assume that he would turn turn over heaven and Earth to find you?” He frowned at you a little bit when your answer was to spit a very nasty expletive at him. “Anyway, I have it under good faith that a traitorous miss Natasha Romanoff is going to be helping them look for you. And this is what they’ll find.”

“Bucky won’t buy this,” you said, shaking your head. “He won’t.”

“Won’t he?” Ross questioned. “The daughter of a respected HYDRA scientist. Cleaned up and made a respectable agent for the United States, though with a particular specialty in undercover work.” He tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically. “Her knowledge with HYDRA and one particular asset makes her the prime candidate for the infiltration and observation of the assassin James Buchanan Barnes. Her orders are simple - gain the trust and report on Barnes, in the interest of hopefully obtaining some useful intel that he otherwise wouldn’t give up. Intel he might give up to a friend, or,” he went on, waving his hand, “someone he loved. And that day in Bucharest, when it all came crashing down for the two of you? An emergency extraction of our agent after Steve Rogers shows up unexpectedly.”

You rubbed your chin. “This is a load of bullshit.”

“Well, obviously,” Ross said, like you were dense. “But there’s only one person that I need to believe it. A person who, by your account, suffers from severe emotional and psychological distress. Who’s paranoid. A person who in the past two years he’s spent on the run, has only trusted one person.” He lifted his hand, his index finger pointing in your direction. “You. You were the one perfect thing in his life. A shining beacon of hope among the chaos. Now you tell me, how do you think he’ll react when he sees frankly, rather convincing information that his little beacon has been a lie. A reflection of everything else in his life.” He leaned forward, clasping both hands in front of him. “How do you think he’ll react?”

You wanted to have faith. You wanted to say that Bucky wouldn’t accept the information, that he’d call it out for what it was. But looking at the pictures, including photos of your own father - whom Bucky has seen other photographs of - you were almost convinced yourself. Someone sure spent a lot of hours in photoshop on these beauties. And you knew about Bucky’s mental state better than anyone, though Ross gave it a pretty good guess. Bucky was always questioning things, so paranoid and distrusting of everything. His rituals and obsessive need to be prepared for the worst, expecting the worst from people. He would never see it coming from you. And perhaps that would be what would make it so god damn effective.

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked him, clearing your throat. You shoved the file back in his direction, glaring at him. “You put this out if I don’t tell you where he is?”

“Basically,” he said. He stood up, grabbing his chair and walking around the table. He set his chair down next to you, sitting down. He rested his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward, giving you a sympathetic look. “You give us the rendezvous point for you and Barnes, and I promise we’ll do our best to bring him in alive. Hell, I’ll even let you go to witness the apprehension, if you want. You’ll be reunited. And this?” He motioned to the file. “Burned. Deleted. No one but the two of us will ever see it. He won’t lose you, and you won’t lose him.”

You licked your lips, and then bit the inside of your cheek. Would Bucky believe the lie? You didn’t know. Probably. He’d think that the last year and a half the two of you spent together had been a manufactured lie, carefully orchestrated for the sole purpose of getting his trust. To get him to love you. And now he’d think you didn’t love him. He had told you once that you were the one good thing to come out of his pain. You could practically see what his face would look like if he read this information, and you wiped your eyes, hating that tears were starting to prickle.

Ross was right. You would lose him. But the other option wasn’t really an option either. You might get to see Bucky. You would remain to be “the one good thing” in his life. But you’d also be the last thing. Whatever promises Everetty made, you knew that Bucky’s life would be over. And yours too, probably. After the few second they might allow you to have together, it would come to a swift and decisive end. Either way, you would never see Bucky again. Either way, you lost. The only thing about the second option would be that you had a small, passing moment where you might get to touch him. Kiss him. Tell him that you were sorry. Tell him goodbye.

“What’s it going to be?” Ross asked you. There was a smile on his face still. Like he knew what answer you would choose.

You slammed your head into his, hearing a satisfying crack of breaking bones that more than made up for your own pain. He toppled over in his chair, his hands holding his face while he screamed. Blood started seeping through his fingers, staining the cuffs of that shitty suit he was wearing.

“Burn in hell, Everetty,” you spat at him. “I’m not giving you shit. Take that file and shove it up your -“

More men had entered the room, grabbing you roughly. Two of them linked their arms around yours, practically picking you up off the ground as they dragged you out of the room. You were still sputtering curses at Ross, who had managed to stand back up while caressing his obviously broken nose.

“Stay here and rot, then,” he called, his voice echoing down the hallway after you. “We’ll find him without you.”

You continued shouting vulgar words and phrases about Ross all the way down to the cell that the guards quite literally threw you in. Your shoulder smarted as your back hit the hard concrete, but all that did was cause you to scream more in anger. Even after the door was shut, and the guards had since gone, you were yelling at them. At Ross. At everyone in that god damn building. And you kept yelling until your voice went raw, until you hiccuped and the angry screams quickly shifted into loud sobbing. You slid down the cold concrete wall, wrapping your arms around your knees as you cried.

  


**STEVE’S POV**

It hadn’t turned out the way he had hoped. He was a fugitive, technically. His team was practically split in half, and those that had chosen to back him were fugitives as well. He wasn’t sure who was right or wrong, honestly. At this point it didn’t really matter. What mattered was the present, and it was the present that had him in Wakanda with his best friend. The one he had walked away from everything for. The one who was now going to be protected by a King.

The one who was checking out.

Steve couldn’t blame him, really. He was only beginning to grasp the horrors Bucky had been subjected to the past seventy years. But he was bearing witness to the trauma he had endured in the past 48. When Natasha had called them in after searching high and low for you after you didn’t meet Bucky at the rendezvous point. The files that were buried deep in the government’s top secret branch that she had managed to dig up. Had he been prepared, he might not have let Bucky see them straight away. But Steve only read part of the information before he had taken to watching Bucky. It was hard to explain, when witnessing the utter destruction of a human being when they still somehow managed to hold themselves together. Bucky had done that. He was destroyed, but together.

Bucky blamed himself. He said that after all that HYDRA had done to him, he wasn’t able to tell who was his friends and who weren’t. If he weren’t so enamored with you, he thought, then he might have been able to see the warning signs. Some hint that you weren’t real. You never were.

Steve thought that there was something wrong with the story, that it didn’t fit right. He had only known you for a few seconds, but he could see the impact you had on Bucky. How much he loved you. He thought that something like that couldn’t be made up, couldn’t be acted out. Bucky told Steve he was ridiculously optimistic. Natasha seemed to agree with Bucky, but Steve asked her to keep searching anyway. To look for discrepancies, something to go off of. All she found was more evidence pointing to the same conclusion: you were an agent of the government, sent to watch and gather intel from Bucky.

After a while he refused to talk about it. He just shut down. It wasn’t too long later that he decided he should go back under. T’Challa had been kind enough to offer him a safe place, and hired a team of doctors who would work on ridding him of the effects of HYDRA’s poison.

“You’re sure about this?” Steve asked, hands in his pockets as he approached his friend. He cast a glance at the chamber they had constructed for him. He felt unsettled by it, by the entire situation. But who was he to make decisions for him? Bucky had decisions made for him for almost a century.

“I can’t trust my own mind,” Bucky said, gripping the edge of the exam table he was sitting on. He smiled at Steve, but there was nothing to it. Just hollow and empty. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing. For everybody.”

“Look, Buck,” Steve said, “you know something isn’t right about this, don’t you?” He didn’t know why he was trying again. Because he felt like he had to, maybe. Or because there was something wrong with it. He could feel it in his gut that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. And he could find out what, where, exactly, things were wrong. He just needed more time. “That whole thing with Y/N -“

“Steve,” Bucky interjected, sounding exasperated. Tired. “It is what it is, alright? She’s part of the government, and damn good at her job, apparently. She used me. That’s the end of it.”

“Do you really believe that?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t trust anything my mind tells me,” Bucky replied, shaking his head. “It’s a fact, alright? We could make a book with all the information Natasha found on her.”

The conversation was interrupted by one of the doctors approaching. “We are ready for you, Mr. Barnes,” he announced, clipboard in hand.

Bucky slipped off the table. He gave the chamber a long look, and then looked to Steve. After a moment’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around him. “I’ll see you,” he said, giving another hollow smile.

“Yeah,” Steve said, returning the hug.

He watched as Bucky stepped into the chamber, one of the doctors stepping forward to bind his arms. Steve would have thought he might be more tense to go back under. After all, it was what HYDRA had done to him, time and time again. But this time, he looked ready for it. Relieved, even. It shouldn’t happen like this, but he let it. Steve watched the chamber close, machines whirring gently as ice spread over Bucky’s skin. He had found a way to escape, Steve thought.

A way to forget about you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on this!! I really appreciate it. I will say that this chapter has mentions of physical torture, though nothing specific.

Time passed. You weren’t really sure how much. They didn’t exactly give you a calendar. They didn’t give you much of anything. You went days without leaving the small confines of your cell. The four concrete walls became your entire world, closing in on you like a vice that just wouldn’t quite shut all the way. It made you uneasy. You probably walked miles around that small little room. Five steps one way. Turn. Four steps. Turn. Five steps. How many times had you done this? Thousands, probably. Enough times that you could probably draw a topographical map of the uneven walls of your cell, right down to the cracks in the concrete. Just from the four steps. Turn. Run your hand on the wall. Five steps. Turn. Follow the fissures in the wall with your fingertips. Turn. But you would much rather be in the cell than out of it, because being out of it was what kept you awake.

So when the cell of your door opened one day (or night, there weren’t any windows so you didn’t know what time it was), you huddled in the farthest corner, doing your very best to melt into the wall. The bright light coming from the hallway hurt your eyes, and you had to turn your head. Ross went a few days without seeing you, just letting you simmer. But then he got desperate, and went back to asking through more physical means for Bucky’s location. Even after you knew the week meet up date had to have passed, you didn’t give it up. You didn’t know how long Bucky would wait for you. How long it would take for him to find the information that Ross had made up. How long would it take for Bucky to hate you?

“Hello, darling,” a voice said, you imagined belonging to the body that was blocking out part of the light.

You squinted. “Who the hell are you?” you asked. New torture buddy? Ross shouldn’t have.

The man stepped into your cell, and you pushed yourself back. But there was nowhere else to go. He was well dressed, wearing a suit more expensive than all these other assholes put together, probably. He had a broad stature, a memorable style of goatee and aviators perched perfectly on his nose. He took them off, wiping the lenses on his suit. Then he looked at you, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “I’m Tony Stark, and I’ll be escorting you out of this shit hole.”

You stared at him, wondering if this was some sort of joke. It definitely looked like the real Tony Stark. You’d seen him on t.v. plenty of times. Bucky had mentioned the last name a time or two as well. You licked your lips, not willing to accept that this was so simple. “Why?” You asked. You hadn’t done anything for him. How did he even know you existed? From what you had heard from the guards and other conversations you picked up, Stark and Captain weren’t on the same page anymore. Bucky would stay with Steve, you knew that. And you were with Bucky. Which meant, in your mind, you and Tony had just met and were already not on the same page with one another.

“Well, for starters, the US government torturing young, innocent women just kind of rubs me the wrong way,” he said, fixing the lapels of his suit. “Oh, and you are also my second attempt at an olive branch because  _someone_ can’t appreciate some the finer arts like history.” He motioned for you to come forward with an impatient wave of his hand. “Well, come on. You want to stay and see if they throw you a goodbye party?”

You weren't sure what the hell he was talking about, but you weren't going to waste time by asking questions. You shuffled over to him, awkwardly refusing to hold onto the hand he offered you. Instead you wrapped your arms around yourself, following him closely as he led you out of your cell and down the hallway. The sight of the guards made you hesitate, watching them for some sort of reaction. But they just glared at you, maintaining their positions. When you realized they weren’t going to stop you, you hurried after Tony.

“I don’t understand,” you said quietly to him.

“I’ll explain later,” he said. He slowed so he walked beside you, pressing his hand to your back to guide you.

You flinched at the contact, which he noticed, but you tried to make yourself settle down. If he wanted to hurt you, he probably would have done so by now. But you weren’t really sure what to expect from him, either. You didn’t know what he expected from you. He was saying that he was going to get you out of here, though, and that was what mattered.

Tony took you out to the lobby area, and you felt his hand press into your side, pulling you to him in an almost protective manner. You glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. So you followed his gaze and your eyes froze on Everett Ross.

You didn’t even realize you were making your way over to him until Tony was yanking you back.

“Tut, tut, tut,” Tony muttered, his arm moving around your shoulders and steering you away. “We are trying to get you out of imprisonment. Not send you back in.” Tony looked over his shoulder, sending Ross a friendly wave. “I’d get a lawyer if I were you! And maybe some Depends because when you see the amount for unlawful imprisonment you are going to need them.”

When he took you outside, it was the first time you breathed fresh air in you didn’t know how long. You couldn’t help but to linger a moment and enjoy it, until Tony started dragging you along to his car. Which happened to be one of the nicest cars you had ever seen in your life. It was orange, with a sleek exterior and looking like he had just driven it off the lot. Maybe he had.

You got into the passenger seat, hastily buckling your seatbelt as Tony slid in. The car started of its own accord, greeting him by name in an accented female voice. Fancy. The vehicle growled as it suddenly lurched forward, prowling down the driveway and out towards the gates. You watched the whole time, looking out the rear window. You half expected someone to start running out, for them to tell you this was just some new torturous game they were going to play with you. But the car kept moving, and there was no one but you and Tony. And then you were out of the gates, back out in the real world. Just like that, you were out.

Tears prickled at your eyes, and you wiped them away. When was the last time you had cried? You weren’t sure. There was a time when you did nothing but. Emotional pain. Physical pain. It made you cry and cry until eventually, the tears just stopped falling. And you hadn’t felt much of anything since. Not until this moment. “Do you –“ your voice was too hoarse. You cleared your throat, and then tried again. “Do you know how long I was in there for?”

“Six months,” Tony told you. “I didn’t even know you existed until about a week ago.”

“How did you find me?”

“I was looking for Rogers,” he told you. “We had a bit of a…quarrel. He broke the law to save your deranged boyfriend, I was mad because your deranged boyfriend killed my parents – “ He waved it off like it wasn’t important, but you noticed how his jaw tensed as he talked. “Anyway, they went off the grid. So after a while, in a fit of boredom, I decided to hack into the government’s secret files and see what they had. And that’s how I found you.”

Your heart sped up at the mention of Bucky. “I’m sorry about your parents,” you told him.

He glanced at you, and then snorted. “You knew too, didn’t you? What, did Barnes whisper that kind of shit to you while the two of you were playing hide the zucchini?”

You winced a little at his raised voice, scooching away from him until you were pressed against the car door. You didn’t answer, just turned your head from him and looked out the window.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said after a minute. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“How did you do it?” you wanted to know, your eyes still focusing on the world outside the car window. “How’d you get them to let me go?”

“You know what the media hates?” he asked. Then he thought about it and added, “or loves, depending on how you look at it?” Apparently he didn’t want you to answer, because he didn’t wait for one. “Cover ups. Especially ones with irrefutable evidence.” He handed you some complicated looking device, flicking his fingers over the screen. Images appeared in front of you on the windshield.

It was you, from a camera that must have been attached to the ceiling. You had never noticed it. And you knew why, as your screams started to pour out from the speakers of the car. You had been otherwise engaged.

You pressed yourself back into the seat, trying to ignore the feeling of blood draining from your face. “Turn it off.”

He did. “Very unfortunate for Ross and his boys that these videos of US government officials torturing a young woman for information she doesn’t have leaked to all major news outlets a couple days ago.”

“You uploaded the videos?” you guessed, looking at him.

“Hey,” he said in mock offense, “I am just lending assistance to an innocent woman. They have no idea who that hacker vigilante is, with superior equipment and probably dashing good looks.”

You rolled your eyes, looking away before he could see the small smile that touched your face. “And what’s in it for you?” you asked.

“Like I said, you’re my olive branch – my peace offering,” he said. His hands on the steering wheel tightened a little bit. “The world needs Captain America. But he’s not coming back without the Mister Universe Assassin. So, I’ll give them you. As a sign of good faith on my end.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “He thinks that I’m a government agent. That being with him was just part of my job.” You sighed shakily. It still hurt, but you had stopped crying about it a long time ago. Tears didn’t get you anywhere. “He hates me.”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Tony asked in dramatic exasperation. “There’s over 200 hours of video of you and these government dicks from the past 6 months. Asking you where Barnes is. Where your little lover’s nest was. And you not telling them any of it. And if that’s not enough, then they can go ahead and watch the video where Ross made up that little story about you. Because that’s out now, too.”

You felt a little sick at the idea of the entire world watching those videos. Nausea twisted in your gut, and you had to convince yourself not to throw up in this fancy car. You swallowed the bile in your throat down, taking a few deep breaths. It could be a good thing, if what Tony was saying was true. Bucky might watch the videos. And while that made goosebumps prickle your skin (and not in a good way), he’d have to realize the truth, wouldn’t he? He’d know that you never betrayed him. That you were really you while the two of you were together. That prospect caused a flutter in your chest that you hadn’t felt in months: hope. 

 

* * *

 

**STEVE'S POV**

The light scratch of a pencil rubbing against paper was the only noise in the hotel room. Steve doodled on those little notepads the housekeepers left, filling the page with meaningless drawings until there was no room left. Then he would rip it off, crumbling it up and slipping the paper in the waste basket before starting all over again. He had a lot of time to draw these days. Normally it was a habit he did when to relieve stress, or to help clear his head. But with all the hours he has committed to drawing, his mind still felt cluttered.

“It’s open,” he called out when there was a soft knock on his door. He glanced up when it opened, eyebrows raising at the look on Sam’s face as he walked in.

“You need to see this,” he said, grabbing the tv remote off the foot of the bed. He pressed a couple of buttons, the television coming alive.

Steve stood up, leaving the pencil and paper on the small desk as he walked to stand next to Sam. He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as his friend flipped through the channels until it landed on the news. He glanced over at Sam. As a rule, they had been avoiding watching too much news lately. He and the rest of his team weren’t exactly favorites these days. At least, they hadn’t been the last time he watched. Apparently others were keeping a closer eye on the happenings of the world than he was at the moment.

His eyes moved across the headline blaring at the bottom of the screen. His mouth parted, a shallow breath escaping him as he watched an avid news reporter speak about the newest scandal. The reporter said that the videos were disturbing, and couldn’t be completely show on national television. But they played enough for the screams, and the video of Ross talking to you.

He felt a wave of emotions: anger, sympathy, regret. Mostly anger. His eyes narrowed as video of Tony appeared on the screen, leading you out of some government building and stashing you into one of his sports cars. Steve glanced at the phone on the desk, but he knew it hadn’t gone off. Not once.

“Get everyone ready to move,” Steve told his friend quietly. He walked back to the desk as Sam headed out the door. He picked up his main cell phone, which had been lying next to his scattered drawings, and dialed a number. He held the phone to his ear, listening to it ring a few times before someone picked up on the other end. “It’s Rogers,” he said. “Wake him up.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“What are you, twelve?”

It’d been a week since Tony pulled you out of your own personal hell. He had taken you back to the Compound, where you were treated to introductions with the ones known as Vision and Rhodes. He insisted that you called him Rhodey. They had all been more than accommodating, and you were eternally grateful for their hospitality. But as the days wore on, you were getting increasingly stressed. For one, the media would not leave you alone. It was a good thing that the Compound was well protected, because otherwise they would be hounding you to no end. Tony was on the phone a lot, talking to different news groups and such about your case. You were more than happy to leave the politics of the situation to him. He seemed to know more about it than you did.

All of these things were happening, but there was one that wasn’t. There was no word from Steve. Or Bucky. Tony insisted that they would be calling, but that dumb little flip phone stayed silent. You watched it like a hawk, checking its battery multiple times a day even though it wasn’t ever in use. Its only job was to ring for one phone call, and it wasn’t happening. The doubt was quick to set in. Maybe Bucky still didn’t believe you. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he’d moved on.

Suggesting that Tony be the one to call them was what led to your current position. You, Tony, and Rhodey were in the living room. Tony and Rhodes were perched on the couches, while you stood in front of Tony, hands on your hips and glaring. “How can you just refuse to be the first one to call?” you asked, miffed.

Tony was nursing some scotch, although you noticed he was taking considerably bigger swallows since the start of this conversation. He brought his glass to his lips, looking up at you. “Because I’ve been doing all the work. Should I just drop you off at their local post office so that they may collect you at their convenience?” he asked. You didn’t think you’ve ever witnessed so much sarcasm coming from one person before. “They are fugitives, technically. Contacting others isn’t exactly an easy gig.”

“Call Steve,” you said slowly, though you were quickly losing your patience. You appreciated Tony for what he did, and the way that he was continuing to help you. But you were also struck with a very strong urge to punch him in the face. “This isn’t some stupid game you’re playing, Tony. This is my life. And I know you hate Bucky, but you and I both know that he doesn’t deserve to suffer like this.”

A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched, and you figured that it probably took a lot of effort on his part not to lash out at you. You had learned quickly that Bucky was a sore subject for Tony. He was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t responsible for his parents’ deaths, even if he was the reason they were dead. But, you had to give him credit for attempting to understand. Even if he was lackadaisical at times. “That’s a matter of debate,” he said, pausing to finish off the rest of his glass. “And if you’re so worried, why don’t you call him? There’s only one number in that phone.” He raised his eyebrows at you in question.

You stared at the phone, hesitating. He was right. You could call if you really wanted to. And you did. But at the same time you were terrified of the type of reception you were going to get.

Like it could sense your fear, the small screen of the phone lit up. The device started buzzing frantically across the table, some sort of high pitched tune playing loudly as it started to ring. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful support for this fic! Without further ado, here's the final part. I hope that it ends up being everything you imagined/hoped for. <3

“You have got to relax,” Tony told you for about the seventh time in the past hour. You’d think he’d get the message by now that no, you were not going to relax. There was no way you could relax.

You thought that maybe once that dumb cell phone rang, that you would start to feel better. Obviously, it meant that Bucky was interested in seeing you – in at least talking to you again. You wanted to give him your side of the story, even if he probably already knew most of it from watching those videos. You had waited anxiously as Tony talked with Steve, the two of them having a casual discussion. It drove you nuts. But eventually, they decided on a place to meet, where Steve and the rest of his crew wouldn’t attract too much attention since they were still on the run. Tony said he knew the perfect place.

The perfect place turned out to be a 500-acre island just south of Italy. Apparently, Tony owned it and would visit on occasion. It was complete with a house and its own pool. The house was actually a mansion, naturally, and it could probably sleep at least twenty people. It was Mediterranean themed, with large archways and giant windows spanning the entire two stories. It was open on the inside, one large room just connecting with the next.

It was technologically superior to anything you’d ever witnessed, of course. You never knew, for instance, that it was possible for an entire wall to move and open to the outside like some sort of fancy garage door. Yet that’s exactly what happened with the living room wall. It allowed for a nice breeze to sweep in through the house. It also treated you to an excellent view of the water, small waves crashing onto the beach, the long island grass swaying in the breeze. The sun was out, and the sky was clear. It was a perfect day in the perfect place. Which was good, because you were waiting for a plane.

He had made arrangements to send a private jet for Steve and the rest. You weren’t sure how that all worked, but apparently Tony had made some arrangements that would ensure they wouldn’t get picked up by airport security. You were learning that there weren’t many things that Tony Stark couldn’t do if he put his mind to it.

Tony had told you that the plane had picked them up without a hitch. And they were on their way here. In fact, the plane was going to be here at any minute. You had been stuck in a constant state of anxiety for the past week, ever since that phone rang. Now that you were about to reach that pinnacle, you weren’t sure if you were going to be able to handle this. All this work and effort, and the prospect of seeing Bucky again absolutely terrified you.

“Try and take some deep breaths, Y/N,” Rhodey suggested, sitting on a couch opposite of Tony. “It’s going to be alright.”

“Or you could just drink a lot,” Tony said, pouring you a glass of scotch and holding it out to you.

You barely hesitated before you snatched the glass from him, downing it in one gulp. You scrunched your nose at the burn in your throat. “This tastes like crap,” you said, smacking your lips as you made a face at him.

“That small glass of crap was worth about five hundred dollars.”

You raised your eyebrows, staring at the empty glass. “Seems like you could get some better tasting alcohol for that price,” you said, setting the glass down on the table next to the bottle.

Tony started to say something, but he stopped mid-sentence. Eyebrows furrowing, he glanced outside and tilted his head a little bit, listening. You looked out as well, swallowing thickly. You heard it too. The dull roar of a plane.

The three of you stood, all hurrying outside to stand on the giant deck that completely encompassed the house. Your heartbeat thrummed in your ears. You held a hand over your eyes to block the sun, your eyes focused on the tiny object that was soaring in the distance. Tony and Rhodey stood on either side of you, watching with you as the tiny object slowly became larger. Eventually, it started to actually look like a plane. It had a sleek, black sheen to it. Definitely Tony Stark’s style. You watched as the plane made its descent. By the time it flew over the house, the jet’s engine blocked out the sound of your heartbeat.

“Come on,” Tony said, waving you after him. He turned on his heel and walked back through the house, heading out toward the landing strip. He grabbed his bottle of scotch while on the way through.

Rhodey patted you on the shoulder, offering you an encouraging smile before he trailed after Tony.

You followed, your feet shuffling against the tile floor as you followed the two men through the house. You couldn’t hear the jet anymore – was it turned off, did they land already? So now your heartbeat was roaring in your ears, crashing against your chest so hard you thought it might crack your ribs. Somehow your feet carried you where you needed to go, even though your mind was in a fog and barely processing what was happening around you. Standing out in the yard with Rhodey and Tony as the jet came around, parking right next to Tony’s other multimillion-dollar jet.

It seemed to take years. Years for the plane to power down and then there was nothing for a long time. You jumped when the plane door opened. You clasped your hands in front of you, your thumbs pressing against your lips. You tore your gaze away from the plane, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, practically dancing in place.

When you looked back at the plane, the stairs were lined with the door. It had opened, and you watched as Steve stepped out first. He looked a little worse for wear, like maybe he hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights. He had on old sweats and a light blue t-shirt. He wore a tired smile, giving us a nod before he started making his way down the steps. Others followed suit. People you didn’t know, but had seen on television. Fugitives, technically. One after another, filing out of the plane like some sort of exhausted parade. Three men, two women. All looking worse for wear. Steve was approaching Tony by the time the red head was making her way out of the plane. And then you saw a flash of metal in the plane’s doorway.

Before you even really realized it, you were turning around and reentering the house. Your nerves, your cowardice, drove you away.

 

* * *

 

 

You had wandered the beach for a while. You thought you were gone for at least an hour, maybe more. Enough time for the sun to start setting in the sky, its waning light causing brilliant colors of purples and oranges to twist together along the horizon. Soft waves brushed over your feet, toes curling into the sand as you looked out. Eventually, you were going to have to go back. You should have never left. You were going to see Bucky for the first time in months, and you had run away. You rubbed your arms idly, the cool evening breeze causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms.

“Beautiful,” Bucky said from behind you.

You tensed at his voice, that deliciously deep voice that you hadn’t heard in so long. You remembered you loved listening to him talk, which that in itself was a rarity. It didn’t matter what he said; it was the tone, a pleasurable tenor that you could really lose yourself in. Now it made your heartbeat kick into overdrive, and you rubbed your arms a little more quickly as you looked down at your feet.

“It is,” you choked out, fighting to keep your body from trembling as you felt him approach. You could feel his presence behind you, the heat radiating off his body.

He shifted behind you, and you felt his chest brush against your back. Your breathing stuttered as his forehead rested against the back of yours. His chest heaved as he breathed you in. “I was talking about you,” he said, so quietly it took you a second to make out the words.

You jumped a little when his arms slid slowly around you, the contrast of cool and warm rubbing against your arms as his tightened around your waist. You felt like a piece of board, your muscles were so stiff. It had been such a long time that the touch from another human being had been kind, loving. Your body was rigid, as if preparing for the violence it had come to anticipate at the hands of others. 

Bucky noticed this, and you felt his sigh against the nape of your neck as he moved to pull away, muttering an apology. But before he could let go of you completely, you grabbed his wrists, tugging his arms so that they wrapped over your chest. Your arms wrapped over his, your fingers gripping his biceps. It was almost suffocating, but you pushed the feeling away.

You could do this. It was Bucky. The touch was kind, and so, so gentle. The way he held you loosely, because he was beginning to pick up that his touch made you nervous, even if you wanted it. How he placed a ghost of a kiss to your shoulder blade, murmuring something to you in Romanian that you couldn’t quite hear. But there was that voice, the soft timbre of sound that made your toes curl. This time, you did it voluntarily, digging your toes in the wet sand as you played through these scenarios. These were normal, everyday things the two of you used to share. And they felt so foreign, but you wanted to remember them. You wanted to remember the way that he made you feel.

There was the faint scent of his cologne. You didn’t remember what the name was, but you knew you had bought it for him some time ago. He hadn’t been one to wear the stuff before, but he had started because you loved the way it smelled. You remembered teasing him, remarking that the smell drove you crazy. He had started wearing it all the time after that. And you could smell it on him now. It was Bucky. Your Bucky.

The weight of his arms didn’t feel so heavy after a while. You even began to enjoy the warmth they provided, chasing away the slight chill that had been bothering you. He made a humming noise every now and again, his breath moving the hair just behind your ear. You shivered. His cologne reminded you of home; of all the time the two of you had spent together, pretty much since the day you met. He was holding you, as he often did. Through his nightmares, and times of doubt, and the days when his past weighed more heavily on him than usual. You had been his rock. But now he was holding you for you. This time, he was the rock.

You turned, twisting your body around so that you were facing him. So you could see him for the first time in more than half a year. He looked very similar to the last time you had seen him. Tony had told you that he had been in cyro, which is part of the reason why it had taken so long for Steve to call. They had to wait for Bucky to wake up. He had more stubble than was the usual, you noticed, and the bags under his eyes seemed more prominent. Your fingers brushed over the skin just under his lower eyelid, partially entranced by how his skin felt underneath your fingertips again. They drifted over his cheek, down to his jaw, where his stubble pricked at your fingers softly.

Bucky’s hands drifted to your face, too, following almost the same pattern yours had. Except after his flesh thumb had swept under your eye, he drew back. It wasn’t until you saw the droplet rolling down his finger that you realized you were crying.

“Why didn’t you wait for me when I got off the plane?” he asked. His fingers moved over your face, like he was trying to commit the feel of your facial features to memory. Warm and cool fingers drifted over your cheeks, his metal hand smoothing over the bridge of your nose before pressing against your lips for a brief moment.

“I was afraid,” you admitted in a hoarse whisper. You let your eyes drift shut as his fingers started to run through your hair.

“Of what?” Bucky wanted to know.

“That you won’t love me anymore.” You felt stupid just saying it. But it was a very real possibility that had been hanging around in your mind. A lot had happened, and even if the majority of it wasn’t true, that didn’t mean that Bucky’s feelings still couldn’t change.

He scoffed, pressing his lips to your forehead. His hand wrapped around the nape of your neck, pulling you into him. More light kisses brushed against the top of your head, his cheek nuzzling into your hair. “If anything, I should be worried that you don’t love me. You went through what you did because of me. And I – I didn’t do anything to help you,” he muttered.

Your cheek rested against his chest, your hands having slipped from his face to wrap around him. Your palms pressed against the hard muscles of his back. “You didn’t know,” you offered quietly.

“But I should have,” Bucky whispered. “I should have known that you wouldn’t do that to me. But it just – when I saw the story, it’s just like it clicked. Because I knew I didn’t deserve someone like you. After all the things that I’ve done, and to somehow get you –” he shook his head “- it didn’t make sense. I always knew it. I never deserved you.”

“Well that’s too bad,” you said, tilting your head so you could press your lips to his throat. “You’re stuck with me. If you still want me.”

Bucky’s hand grabbed your chin, moving your head so that your eyes met his. “I’ll always want you,” he said. His mouth slanted over yours, breaths mingling for a moment before he kissed you.

You were afraid that it might not feel the same. But the relief felt almost as good as the kiss itself when you found that it did. His mouth moving against yours caused butterflies to flutter in the pit of your stomach. You hung onto his shoulders, making a small noise when his hands moved to your thighs, picking you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing to successfully tether yourself to him. You had forgotten how strong he was, his metal arm secured around your lower back while his flesh hand cupped your face. He kept kissing you as he walked back toward the house, not at all hindered by you being wrapped around him.

When he pulled back to let the two of you breathe, you could see the hesitation start to settle in. The remorse. The guilt. You experienced it enough with him that you knew the signs, except this time it was slightly different. This time he was having these feelings about you.

“I am so sorry, Y/N,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. He had stopped walking, standing on the stretch of beach with your legs still wrapped around his waist, arms locked to his shoulders.

“I forgive you, baby. I do. But if it bothers you so much, I have a suggestion,” you muttered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

His eyes lit up. He was always so desperate for redemption. “Anything.”

You smiled, shifting slightly so you could kiss him more fully. When you parted, you said, “I want you to spend the rest of our lives trying to make it up to me.” You carded your fingers through his hair. “Starting right now.”

Bucky’s expression matched yours. His face softened, and he pressed a hard kiss to your lips. The kind that sent those butterflies into overdrive. “I can do that,” he breathed when he pulled away, making you grin. 


End file.
